The Breakup Didn’t Stop Me From Owning the World - Chapter 25

While the Limited Edition production team was being smeared, the Shadows of the Republic crew seized the opportunity to buy numerous trending searches, propelling their film’s popularity to the top of the charts. Jiang Qianrou finally managed to turn Shadows of the Republic‘s fortunes around by riding on her grandfather’s coattails.

 

When Lan Muyu learned that Jiang Yu would direct Shadows of the Republic, she wasn’t surprised at all. Instead, she felt a sense of calm acceptance—as if things had turned out exactly as expected.

 

In her previous life, the film that earned Fu Yao her Best Actress award was directed by Jiang Yu. But in this lifetime, due to Lan Muyu’s rebirth, Fu Yao and Jiang Yu had begun collaborating earlier. Would they still achieve the same glory as before?

 

However, Lan Muyu soon had no time to dwell on this, as the online discourse grew increasingly hostile. It was clear that Fu Yao and Jiang Qianrou had come prepared this time.

 

The best way to suppress a drama is to block its path while it’s still in its infancy, preventing it from ever reaching the audience. Jiang Qianrou clearly had no intention of leaving Limited Edition any room to breathe—but she had overlooked one crucial detail.

 

With any other production, investors might have withdrawn their funding early due to the overwhelming scandals to salvage some of their capital. But Limited Edition‘s investor was Li Ruonan—what risk was there of her pulling out?

 

Still, while Li Ruonan wouldn’t withdraw her investment, Lan Muyu couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Since her rebirth, she had wanted to make up for the people she’d wronged in her past life. Yet Li Ruonan lacked nothing—if Lan Muyu couldn’t do anything for her, the least she could do was ensure Li Ruonan didn’t lose money because of her.

 

So Lan Muyu spent hours drafting and revising countless response strategies on her tablet. The situation was both complicated and surprisingly simple.

 

For the Limited Edition team, they had never established a specific persona when releasing stills, nor had they interfered with fan interpretations. Extricating themselves wouldn’t be difficult.

 

The simplest way to handle the false advertising accusations was to shift all blame onto the fans whose Weibo screenshots had circulated, then follow standard celebrity practice by sending defamation lawsuits to those fans. That would swiftly resolve everything.

 

But doing so risked alienating their supporters, leaving well-meaning fans who had promoted the drama in legal jeopardy. While this approach might solve the immediate crisis, in the long run, future audiences would think twice before engaging with their work—after all, who would risk promoting something if it might earn them a lawsuit?

 

Gu Yan, Ling Shan, and Lan Muyu spent the entire night video-conferencing about PR strategies. Ling Shan filtered through proposals from her PR team before consulting the other two. By the time they reached a consensus, it was already past midnight.

 

Since the required materials needed editing, they couldn’t be released immediately. Gu Yan, who was on set, had to work overnight preparing everything for the next morning’s PR push.

 

After releasing audition footage, Limited Edition had gone silent—missing what many considered the optimal window for clarification. This emboldened the internet water army hired by Shadows of the Republic.

 

Yet hearteningly, many netizens still expressed faith in Limited Edition, willing to wait for the production team’s response.

 

The two factions clashed fiercely late into the night:

 

“Is Limited Edition planning to play the coward forever?”

 

“This production team looks completely unreliable—how can it compare to Director Jiang’s professional crew?”

 

“Limited Edition should disband their crew overnight. I’ll boycott them every time they show their face.”

 

“Han Feifei has been photographed so many times vacationing with her sugar daddies. Just based on Limited Edition rejecting Han Feifei and choosing Lan Muyu, I’m optimistic about this production.”

 

“Promoting the show is our own initiative—what does it have to do with the crew? Can the internet water army stop blaming the production team?”

 

“At least the main cast of Limited Edition are all professionally trained. Isn’t it too extreme to dismiss them outright like this?”

 

“So according to fans, production teams can just fabricate hype from now on?”

 

“So according to you, people should be sentenced without trial?”

 

“Well then, I’ll wait to see what excuses Limited Edition can come up with.”

 

…It was destined to be a sleepless night.

 

At 7 AM the next morning, after countless calls from fans, Gu Yan finally went online.

 

He posted a lengthy statement titled “Limited Edition’s Apology for False Advertising” on the show’s official microblog.

 

Early-rising gossipers immediately rushed to read the post. Seeing the title, fans’ hearts sank while the water army erupted in celebration.

 

Without them even needing to intervene, Gu Yan had admitted to false advertising himself? Could fortune really fall from the sky like this?

 

But upon opening it… things didn’t seem quite as they expected?

 

The post was divided into three sections, each with supporting evidence.

 

First section: “We apologize—Limited Edition did indeed engage in false advertising. Our female lead is absolutely not some wealthy heiress.”

 

—Followed by a video: Lan Muyu in an exquisite qipao eating a simple boxed lunch (one meat, two vegetables) with other cast members, while Gu Yan threatens through his director’s megaphone: “Lan Muyu, be careful eating in that! Your costume’s the most expensive—stain it and your paycheck’s gone today.”

 

Second section: “We apologize—Limited Edition did indeed engage in false advertising. While exterior props were replicas, the female lead’s home set contained genuine wealth.”

 

—Followed by antique/jewelry appraisal certificates and another video: During a group scene where the female lead hosts friends, they disdainfully eye a jade ornament until Gu Yan yells “Cut!”—whereupon the actors immediately swarm toward it, only to be dragged three meters back by Gu Yan.

 

Third section: “We apologize—Limited Edition did indeed engage in false advertising. Due to script revisions and confidentiality measures involving fragmented script distribution, no one could expose our ‘plagiarism’.”

 

—Accompanied by footage of Lan Muyu in various qipaos pestering Gu Yan about plot developments. He maintains an inscrutable expression until she leaves, then mutters: “Stop asking! I only know the specifics one day earlier than you do.”

 

Gu Yan’s lengthy Weibo post quickly reminded netizens of Lan Muyu’s interview with reporters back then. At the time, many had speculated that Lan Muyu must have suffered some emotional trauma after a breakup to undergo such a drastic change from her previous self.

 

Now, after reading Gu Yan’s post, what wasn’t clear? Wasn’t Lan Muyu simply influenced by this film crew?

 

Just look at the cheerful atmosphere among the crew members—even the most introverted person would be swept up in their energy.

 

From Lan Muyu’s “rich heiress” persona to the authenticity of the props, and even addressing the initial plagiarism accusations against the script, Gu Yan’s post might seem like a series of jokes, but it systematically refuted every false accusation made by Fu Yao’s side while earning widespread praise:

 

Hahahaha, so the “rich heiress” was just her character in the film. Off-screen, Lan Muyu devouring that boxed lunch was anything but aristocratic!

 

Whoever wants to play the rich heiress can go ahead—if your clothes get dirty today, no allowance for you! (Director Gu is watching your—outfit closely.)

 

Director Gu is truly ruthless. First time seeing a director this stingy.

 

Glancing at the meat slices in my takeout box, I suddenly feel like the world’s richest person.

 

Hahaha the actors are so adorable—during filming, they looked like they were convinced everything was fake, but off-camera, they were practically ready to steal the jade props!

 

Look at their hopeful little eyes! Director Gu wouldn’t even let them glance at the jade for too long. Poor actors, hahaha!

 

Now I finally get why Lan Muyu said during her interview that reporters couldn’t visit the female lead’s home—they were afraid of thieves!

 

So, anyone up for raiding the set tonight to steal some jade?

 

Accusing Limited Edition of plagiarism before the script was even finished—who came up with such a dumb smear tactic?

 

Director Gu is just like the authors I follow—want to know what happens next? Don’t ask, because even he doesn’t know!

 

After leaving comments on Limited Edition’s official Weibo, fans flocked to their own idols’ pages, lamenting the poor catering conditions their “gege” and “jiejie” had to endure.

 

Soon, the hashtag #DidGuYanAddExtraFoodToday trended, with fans uniting in outrage against Gu Yan, demanding better treatment for the cast.

 

Gu Yan played along perfectly, promising to upgrade meals for the “young masters and mistresses” of the crew. Satisfied, the fans backed off—even as internet water armies continued attacking Limited Edition, the production gained massive popularity. Even those previously unaware of the film grew curious due to the constant trending topics.

 

With such a director and such a warm on-set atmosphere, the film couldn’t possibly be bad. Limited Edition had turned misfortune into fortune.

 

Reporters might forget their keys at home, but their memory for gossip is razor-sharp. Soon, the media swarm descended again—only this time, their target was Shadows of the Republic.

 

Jiang Yu arrived at the set of Shadows of the Republic for the first time. Thanks to years of fitness and self-care, his body remained robust even past sixty. The moment he and Jiang Qianrou stepped out of the car, they were immediately swarmed by reporters before they could even call for their bodyguards, cameras flashing and microphones thrust in their faces.

 

“Director Jiang, if you hadn’t insisted on authenticity and realism in filmmaking, netizens wouldn’t have attacked Limited Edition. Was this intentional?”

 

Jiang Yu glanced at Jiang Qianrou, but she avoided his gaze, quickly lowering her head. With the reporters present, he couldn’t say much.

 

Having spent a lifetime in the entertainment industry, he was no stranger to such media ambushes. Facing the cameras with a smile, he brushed it off lightly: “My Weibo post merely stated my filmmaking principles. Please don’t misinterpret my intentions.”

 

The reporters weren’t ready to let him off: “But Director Jiang, when netizens attacked the Limited Edition crew because of your post, why didn’t you clarify?”

 

“I’m old—I go to bed early. If I were ten years younger, I’d stay up all night with you.”

 

With Jiang Yu playing the age card, the reporters had no choice but to shift topics: “Director Jiang, both films share a Republican-era setting. How do you view the two productions? Do you feel any pressure?”

 

Exuding his trademark directorial confidence, Jiang Yu replied, “The Limited Edition team is also excellent. I look forward to competing with them on the big screen.”

 

His words outright confirmed the films’ overlapping release dates, further exciting the reporters. Even their schedules were set to clash—clearly, the rivalry between the two productions had long since reached a boiling point.

 

As the crowd pressed for more revelations, the bodyguards finally arrived, pushing the reporters aside. They could only watch helplessly as Jiang Yu entered the set.

 

Once out of sight, Jiang Yu’s expression darkened. He prepared to admonish Jiang Qianrou with patriarchal authority, but when he turned, she was already on a phone call, forcing him to hold his tongue.

 

Meanwhile, Jiang Qianrou was busy coordinating with the internet water army: “What exactly are you doing after taking my money? Limited Edition is about to turn things around. I don’t care what methods you use—just don’t let them succeed.”

 

The person on the other end quickly agreed, allowing Jiang Qianrou to peacefully resume revising the remaining script.

 

However, nearing noon, Jiang Yu—who hadn’t disturbed her all morning—stormed into her room and confronted her: “What did you do this morning?”

 

Having spent the morning on script revisions and her dealings with the water army company, Jiang Qianrou offered a placating smile. “I just wanted to suppress Limited Edition. You know how things are between us, Grandpa.”

 

“Don’t contact Fu Yao for the next few days,” Jiang Yu said, looking at her with exasperation before walking out.

 

Don’t contact Fu Yao?

 

Panic surged in Jiang Qianrou’s heart. Last night, he had still encouraged her to get along with Fu Yao and win over Tianhao—why had his attitude changed so drastically today?

 

Everything Jiang Qianrou had come from her family; she didn’t dare disobey. But after finally tying herself to Fu Yao, how could she give up so easily?

 

Jiang Qianrou trembled as she took out her phone to contact Fu Yao.

 

But Fu Yao had already turned off her phone.

 

Jiang Qianrou was now completely panicked, but Fu Yao wouldn’t leave without reason. She took a deep breath and opened Weibo.

 

Regarding the Limited Edition production team, a new trending search had appeared: #Baige Media Shut Down#.

 

Jiang Qianrou found the company name somewhat familiar and took a closer look. After reading the accompanying text, her face paled even further.

 

How could she not recognize Baige Media?

 

That was the internet water army company she had hired!

 

Baige Media was a subsidiary of Tianhao Entertainment, but it was a nest of Tianhao’s dedicated water armies. They had roamed the entertainment industry freely, offending countless people along the way.

 

With Baige Media shut down, how could Fu Yao, as its person in charge, escape unscathed? Jiang Qianrou suddenly understood the key point, and the warnings Jiang Yu had given her earlier finally made sense. But it was precisely this realization that caused Jiang Qianrou to collapse onto the floor.

 

When it came to Baige Media, from award-winning veteran actors to promising newcomers, anyone who clashed with Tianhao Entertainment’s artists would immediately find themselves under attack. Baige Media would rush to the front lines, whitewashing their own artists while posing as ordinary netizens to slander and smear their opponents. They were notorious for their unscrupulous behavior.

 

These marketing accounts, emboldened by the freedom of online speech, acted arrogantly and recklessly, making countless enemies in the industry. Everyone had assumed no one could punish these accounts, so they endured as much as they could. Who would have thought Baige Media would be shut down?

 

Artist studios that had suffered losses or grievances at the hands of this water army company’s marketing accounts banded together, compiling a list of Baige Media’s past misdeeds and submitting them to the relevant investigation team.

 

As for the netizens? Well, the netizens watched as the scandal grew bigger and bigger, their excitement bubbling over. Shock couldn’t even begin to describe their feelings—it was more like witnessing something unbelievable in their lifetime.

 

The marketing accounts that had previously accused Limited Edition of plagiarism and false advertising now issued public apologies to the production team, even attaching their work assignments. Among the upcoming tasks were press releases slandering Lan Muyu for being a diva, using stunt doubles, and bullying newcomers.

 

The release of these work assignments served as a powerful layer of protection for Limited Edition.

 

From then on, everyone who had thrown mud at Limited Edition—whether Baige Media’s water armies or other opportunistic marketing accounts—stepped forward to apologize to the production team. Public opinion swiftly turned in Limited Edition’s favor.

 

Other water army companies and marketing accounts that had been subtly hinting at Limited Edition’s self-promotion or preparing to smear the show suddenly fell silent. The storm, to the astonishment of netizens, ended abruptly.

 

 

While netizens didn’t know the inside story behind Baige Media’s shutdown, Lan Muyu had her suspicions from the start.

 

That evening, when Li Ruonan returned home, the table was already laden with exquisite dishes. Lan Muyu rested her chin on her hands, blinking innocently at Li Ruonan. “You’re back.”

 

“Mm.” Li Ruonan changed her shoes and walked to the dining table, only to realize that the takeout Lan Muyu had ordered tonight was more than twice the usual amount.

 

Li Ruonan glanced at Lan Muyu and was once again met with a sweet smile. This unusual behavior made Li Ruonan extremely uncomfortable, causing her to take a small step back just as she reached the dining table.

 

“Why are you standing there? Hurry up and eat.”

 

Li Ruonan raised an eyebrow slightly, studying Lan Muyu thoughtfully. “What do you want from me this time?”

 

“Nothing, nothing.” Lan Muyu stood up, gently pushing Li Ruonan into the chair, then picked up a clean pair of chopsticks and asked, “Didn’t I say I’d provide meal companionship service? What would you like to eat?”

 

Li Ruonan still seemed uneasy. “Really, nothing’s wrong?”

 

Lan Muyu scratched her head and grinned. “I just wanted to thank you for your selfless help, that’s all.”

 

Ah, so the little fox had already figured out that she was behind the Baige Media incident. This was her way of expressing gratitude?

 

“You think a single meal is enough to repay me?” Li Ruonan’s expression turned cold as she scoffed. “I mobilized an entire legal team overnight to gather evidence and even had your ex taken in for questioning. And all that’s worth just one meal?”

 

Put that way, Lan Muyu did feel a bit stingy. She tentatively offered, “Then… I’ll order another meal for you?”

 

The corner of Li Ruonan’s mouth twitched downward.

 

“Two more meals?” Lan Muyu eyed the array of exquisite dishes on the table—each one seemingly worth a small fortune—and felt her heart bleed. “That’s really the most I can do.”

 

“Forget it. Just eat.” Li Ruonan shot her an exasperated look and mocked, “How could I possibly trouble Miss Lan to spend her hard-earned money?”

 

“How could our relationship ever be measured by something as crude as money?” Lan Muyu nibbled on her chopsticks. “I picked up a few massage techniques on set recently. How about I give you a shoulder rub later?”

 

Li Ruonan took a sip of soup and replied, “Fine.”

 

After that, the atmosphere between them noticeably improved. Lan Muyu even chattered nonstop about her experiences on set, her words flowing like an unstoppable stream.

 

After dinner, once the table was cleared, Lan Muyu—eager to provide top-notch service—claimed that the faucet in her bedroom was broken and slipped into Li Ruonan’s room early.

 

Li Ruonan’s legal team was updating her on the latest developments regarding Baige Media, reporting that Tianhao’s executives were also being summoned for questioning by the authorities.

 

The sound of running water and singing from the bathroom made it impossible for Li Ruonan to focus on work, so she closed her laptop.

 

As Lan Muyu hummed a children’s song—counting what seemed like an endless number of ducks—a sudden scream shattered the cozy atmosphere:

 

“Ah—!”

 

Li Ruonan’s expression instantly changed. She dropped what she was holding and rushed toward the bathroom, flinging the door open without hesitation. “Lan Muyu, are you—”

 

Before she could finish, she froze in place. The steamy bathroom was filled with warmth, the bathtub still emitting wisps of vapor, shrouding the room in a hazy mist.

 

Lan Muyu’s smooth, fair back glistened with droplets of water, trailing down the curve of her waist and disappearing into the half-fastened robe. Her long, slender legs were lightly veiled in a thin layer of moisture, as if highlighted by a soft glow.

 

Lan Muyu slightly turned her head upon noticing the movement behind her. Strands of hair casually cascaded down as a faint blush colored her freshly bathed cheeks. Her peach-blossom eyes shimmered even more enchantingly from the lingering steam, meeting Li Ruonan’s gaze directly.

 

Li Ruonan’s mind went completely blank…